


Wing(wo)man

by beaubete



Series: Portrait of a Lady [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 03:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: She's just tired of them dancing around it.





	Wing(wo)man

**Author's Note:**

> For the 007 Fest 2018! Combining Moneypenny Monday with the Crack Prompt Table; I thought it would be fun to try to paint a picture of Eve in 9 mini fics. They don't happen in the same universe at all--some are canon and some are not and some are wildly AU--but I hope that they combine to be one rounded person, the same in all worlds. Think of this as a character exploration project.

He comes to her for advice because somewhere along the way they’ve become mates, and that’s what mates do: they offer each other advice.  Instead, she offers him a stiff tequila. His grimace as he knocks it back is worth it.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what to do,” Bond says.

Eve bumps his shoulder, knocks back her own tequila with only a slightly more ladylike grimace.  It’s really shit tequila. “Obviously, if you’re asking me.” 

“It would be too forward to leave condoms on his desk.”

“At work?  He might very well kill you.”  Then, “Do you think the odds are that high you’ll sleep with him with little notice?”

“I hope so.”  It’s the glummest statement of attraction she’s ever heard, and Eve’s lip jerks with the urge to laugh.  Of course, Bond’s never seen the way Q stares at his arse, so he may not even know— “No condoms, then?”

“ Oh James, what a wonderful gift: chlamydia.”

His glare at that is half-hearted.  “The antibiotics—”

“Oh god.”  He must be far gone if he’s willing to tell her about his VD, and he freezes.  If anything, he goes even glummer.

“Oh god,” Bond repeats faintly.

“You could not be a complete numpty and just tell him.”  She knows he won’t. 

“Do you think he thinks I’ve got chlamydia?”

“I think he has no idea you’re secretly a thirteen year old girl.”

Bond sighs.

::

He comes to her to whinge because somewhere along the way, they’ve become mates, and this is what mates do: they whinge about boys together.  She passes him the bottle and isn’t terribly surprised when he slugs directly from the neck, the little cretin. 

“If he doesn’t make a move soon, they’re going to actually fall off.  They’re so blue they’re purple.” Q sighs dramatically as he flails against her couch.

“—and now that I know more about your bollocks than I ever cared—”

“I might actually die.  Waiting. I might actually.”

“At least not of old age,” she says, and it’s no consolation, judging by the filthy look he gives her.  “He’ll die first,” she continues, because he is small and drunk and she’s not afraid of him.

He waits until she passes the bottle of wine back to mutter, “I hate you,” and refuses to give it back when she holds out her hand.  

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Sotted little lush.”

“Hag.”  He blinks up at her, and where they’d typically fall into tears laughing, instead he hits the “emotional” part of a wine drunk.  His face crumples and she lets him take several messy swigs before taking the bottle from him so he doesn’t drown.

::

She knows the day it happens, nearly to the minute, because Q and Bond both cheer right the fuck up after lunch.  Eve joins them in the caff and pretends not to notice they’re playing footsy under the table. 

“I told you that asking to suck his cock would work, she declares to the table at large.


End file.
